


Nomad

by Stillunravishedbride



Series: To Drive the Cold Winter Away [1]
Category: Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Beard Burn, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Hints of the X-men, Marvel Infinity Wars, Mutants, One-Shot, Softcore lumberjack, Steve Rogers' beard - Freeform, chopping wood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-29
Updated: 2017-07-29
Packaged: 2018-12-08 13:22:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11647422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stillunravishedbride/pseuds/Stillunravishedbride
Summary: A oneshot. Captain America no longer, bearded Steve Rogers has become the Nomad. Fleeing Thanos' Black Order, he finds himself at a safe house already occupied by a beautiful class five mutant. Angst, smut, and wood-chopping ensue.





	Nomad

Danae sank deeper into the hot water, the sides of her bare knees brushing against the walls of a porcelain tub that felt cold as the Arctic air outside. She had used up all the hot water in the cabin for this bath and it was worth it. Barely able to stand being naked for the few seconds it took to change her pajamas each morning, now she could envelope herself in complete and total warmth, the throbbing heat reddening her skin from her neck down to her toes.

 

A sudden thump interrupted her reverie. She shivered, sensing it came from the front door. The cabin was small, but her telepathy hadn’t detected anyone approaching. No one was around. This safe house had been built in the middle of the remote Canadian wilderness for a good reason. It took miles of off-roading to reach the place and Danae had never been anywhere so quiet. And she had never felt so alone.

 

It was wonderful.

 

But this sound frightened her so she extended her psychic tendrils all around the cabin until she could detect a life form. It was a man. And she couldn’t read his mind.

 

_Shit._

 

Instinctively, she sank deeper into the tub and let her body curl into itself, arms cradling breasts. She held her breath and waited until her ears caught the click of the deadbolt opening. _They must have a key. That means it shouldn’t be Hydra._ _It’s gotta be some kind of agent. Only Shield knows about this place._ She held her breath. _Why didn’t I use the chain lock?_

 

Heavy footsteps entered the cabin now and, despite the intense heat of the water, she shivered again. It sounded like a man. A slight pause and she imagined the stranger shaking fresh snow off his boots. She trembled. To be caught in the bath, mutant powers notwithstanding, made her feel incredibly vulnerable and she wondered just who the hell this stranger could be as he came closer to the bathroom door.

 

_Funny, I still can’t read him._

 

A creak, and the door opened.

 

Shrinking deeper into the tub and still trying to cover herself, Danae beheld the figure of a burly, towering man. His thick, brown beard could do nothing to veil his piercing blue eyes. “Who the hell are you?” he asked in a deep voice that sounded like it was in a very bad mood indeed.

 

“Who the hell are _you_?” she retorted, glaring at him defiantly even though she was the one lying naked in a tub.

 

“What are you doing here?” he demanded before he stopped and stared hard at her face. Those eyes narrowed and glittered with an intensity that stole her breath away. “You’re the class five. Aren’t you?”

 

“The class five?” she repeated, incredulous. _How does he know?_

 

“Answer me.”

 

She snorted.

 

“Did they send you here? I’ve been searching for months,” he frowned, coming closer. Though his cheeks reddened at the sight of a nude woman in a bath, he refused to give in to embarrassment. It had been too long.

 

“Searching for me?” she repeated softly, as if she could not believe his words. She bit her lip. “Well, you found me. Now can I have some privacy, please?”

 

“I’m not going anywhere,” he announced, crossing his muscular arms over his broad chest quite stubbornly. “Or you’ll just disappear again.”

 

“Well, seeing as I’m naked at the moment,” she raised her eyebrows, cheeks blushing. “I’m not exactly going anywhere. At least, not unless you let me get dressed.”

 

Drawing in his breath as if he were fighting something inside himself, the bearded man reached down and removed a device from his utility belt. It appeared to be some sort of cell phone and he scrolled through it a moment before turning it to face her. It revealed a grainy picture of her face. Though it was slightly out of focus, there could be no mistake. It was her.

 

“So they got a picture after all,” she murmured, turning to rest her arms on the side of the tub, her breasts neatly concealed behind it. “Well, it doesn’t matter. I’ve used up all the hot water and I’m not gonna waste it. I’m still taking my bath.”

 

“And I’m not leaving,” he repeated stubbornly, though she could tell the blush was spreading, partly hidden behind the bushy brown beard.

 

She sighed. “Fine.” And she turned over onto her belly, not caring if it gave him a good view of her ass.

 

The man practically growled. He reached for a towel and barked out orders. “Out. _Now_. We need to talk.”

 

“Just who do you think you are?” she scolded, ready to psi-blast the hell out of him. Or, maybe, she mused, she should slam his body into the wall, teach him a lesson. Telekinesis had its uses, after all. But she was curious and could not read his mind.

 

“The Nomad,” he replied in his deep, dark voice. “And you’re the class five Shield has been searching for. For months now. Maybe even years.”

 

She laughed bitterly. “So what? Doesn’t mean I’m giving up my bath.”

 

“If you knew what's at stake, you’d get the hell out of that tub. Right. Now.”

 

Sighing, she finally held his gaze and sensed he he was speaking the truth. Using a quieter, less obstinate tone, she spoke. “Look, gimme a break, would you?”

 

He shook his head. “No. You’ll just disappear again. I’m not taking my eyes off you. Get out of the tub.”

 

Danae didn’t know what possessed her. “Make. Me.”

 

Huffing impatiently, the man stood his ground. "I can wait. However long it takes."

 

“Alright then,” she replied softly. “Time to wash my hair.” Without any further ado, she dipped her head into the water and almost immediately wished she hadn’t. The air was terrifically frigid. The water heater could do little at this altitude to keep out the cold. Though the cabin was solid and well-built, the relentless Arctic wind continued to howl and even the wooden planks emanated ice. Only the fire could drive out the chill, but, as usual, she had let it go out. The water was her only warmth. When her wet hair met the air in the room, it triggered a series of shivers. She could feel the strands freezing at the tips.

 

Exasperated, the stranger who called himself the Nomad gave a frown. “You’d better get out. You’ll get sick.” He shoved a towel towards her, opening it wide while averting his eyes. Danae bit her lip and rose up out of the water, the shivers coming faster now. Droplets rolled off her long hair. They stuck to her skin and cascaded all the way down her ass. Catching a glimpse of her bare back, he was suddenly reminded of Botticelli’s Venus rising from the waves. He had seen the painting once, in person. But he only wrapped the towel around her torso and, with a shiver, she swiftly tucked the edge in. Quickly, he grabbed a second towel and wrapped it over her hair.

 

Danae’s teeth began to chatter. “Y-you’d b-better start a fire.”

 

“You’re coming with me,” he murmured, wrapping his arms around her and practically pushing her into the small living room. Keeping her close to his side, he expertly re-built the fire, re-arranging the wood into some kind of order that made her wonder if he had been a boy scout or survivalist. Once he had the fire roaring, he pulled her onto the small couch and wrapped his arms around her once again. She finally noticed what he was wearing. It seemed to be some dark sort of uniform. A nondescript men’s parka lay upon the floor. It had no badges or markings of any sort.  _What the hell is he? Some kind of homeless vigilante? He called himself the Nomad. And I still can’t read him._ She shivered harder and he squeezed her tighter. “You know, I wouldn’t recommend taking baths around here,” he mused, his voice sounding calmer and kinder than she’d yet heard it. “Hypothermia’s a real risk.”

 

“Looks l-like you’ve got that c-cov-vered,” she replied saucily, even though her teeth were chattering. “If you j-just let me get my blow dryer, I c-could solve this p-problem.”

 

“No,” he growled slightly. “I’ve been searching for months. I’m not letting you get away again. You have no idea what we’re up against.”

 

“Oh-h, I have some idea,” she breathed, her body slowly starting to warm up. “C-can you at least let me brush my hair?”

 

He frowned, but kicked over the brush that had been sitting on the opposite end of the couch. “Go ahead." It required her to pull her arms out of his hold. The towel that covered her body loosened and the tops of her full, creamy breasts poured out of it. Losing himself in the sight, he was suddenly captured by an exquisite longing deep in his groin. But his mind could not forget her face, the picture he had carried with him for months, through battle after battle. The woman he had dreamed of for nights without end.

 

Quickly, she tightened the towel again and his arms squeezed about her waist. Trying her best not to elbow him in the face, she began to brush her long, wet hair.

 

“You know what we’re facing,” the man said suddenly, changing his tone. “Thanos. A titan. None of us is strong enough to beat him.”

 

“I know,” she admitted. “That’s why I ran away.”

 

“From Shield?” he asked sharply.

 

“No. From home. To protect them,” she clarified. “If he comes for me. I didn’t want anyone else to get hurt. So I came to this place. I didn’t think anyone would ever come here.”

 

“How’d you find it?” he demanded.

 

“The new Shield, of course,” she retorted. “I found a list of their safe houses. Chose the most remote one, then I wiped it from their minds. And their databases.”

 

“Well, you couldn’t wipe it from _me_ ,” he snorted.

 

“No,” she agreed. “I couldn’t. I don’t know why. You’re . . . different.”

 

He said nothing, but, thinking she’d been shivering too long, decided to make a change. “We’ll get you some dry clothes. Then, we’ll talk some more.” He rose from the couch and all but carried her into the bedroom, as if she were light as a feather. Danae trembled, but not from the cold this time. His burly strength savagely triggered an exquisite drowning sensation deep in her body. She bit her lip.

 

“You can put me down now,” she said, somewhat cloyingly. “And turn around—won’t you?” she added, as if issuing him a challenge.

 

He would not turn away but he did avert his gaze. It did nothing to quell his attraction to her. After months of carrying her picture around on a crinkled piece of paper he kept carefully folded in his utility belt, he wasn’t sure he’d ever manage to find her. He made the print as a precaution, knowing the digital version could too easily be erased and forgotten. He’d kept it that way ever since they told him about mutants, and the one mutant in particular who might have power enough to take on Thanos.

 

And indeed, her power readings were off the charts. Shield warned him of this multiple times: intel on her always seemed to vanish. Agents assigned to track her ended up forgetting she ever even existed. Eventually, the compartmentalization approach failed as well. All knowledge of her gradually faded away, vanishing bit by bit until Steve was the only one left who could keep the pieces of the puzzle. But Thanos was coming; the signs were all over. Shield could read them and so did Thor. They’d been cropping up ever since he’d left Bucky; ever since he’d started growing his beard, actually. With the advent of the titan looming over him, he’d spent many months battling the first wave of the onslaught. It was called the Black Order. Steve Rogers and his ragtag crew narrowly managed to stave off destruction time and again. Those battles were unlike anything he’d ever known. They'd changed him, forced him to re-live too many things he’d rather forget and, through it all, he carried her picture, the only picture they’d managed to capture of her--a picture of her soft, round face. It haunted his dreams. He had it memorized, the way her eyes permanently glanced behind her, innocent and unaware of the camera, the way her mouth assumed a hint of a frown. It captivated him. The idea she’d be able to help Bucky, maybe even help save the world if only he could find her, fed his obsession. He had come to this safe house as a haven, a temporary resting place, the most remote hideout belonging to Shield. The Black Order was hunting him in earnest now. Thanos’ earthly minions never rested.

 

She was the last person he’d expect to find here.

 

And now that he had found her, she was standing right in front of him, nude, putting on her clothes before his very eyes. Averting his gaze yet again, he made certain not to watch though he could not help but inhale her sweet scent for he wasn’t about to leave her, not even for a moment, or to turn his face away. He knew the vast reach of her energy signature. Shield’s power index had detected it long ago. The reader on his own device had alerted him of it when he neared the cabin, though it did not tell him to expect _her_.

 

The power levels even surpassed Wanda’s.

 

 _The class five,_  he had thought. _Finally. I found her._

 

“Done,” she announced cheerfully, though the blush in her cheeks belied her mood. She had never gotten dressed in plain sight of a man who was a complete stranger before. Somehow, she found the will to tolerate his intrusiveness. It felt dangerous--and sexy.

 

Once she was clothed, something settled between them. He could look her in the eye even though flashes of that creamy, curvy skin kept popping into his mind to distract him. They spent the long night together talking of mutants and their powers, the reach of her abilities, and the impending arrival of Thanos until she finally succumbed to slumber, utterly exhausted. Steve remained awake and kept watch, taking out her picture every now and then to compare it to her blissfully unconscious expression.

 

"I found her," he repeated to himself, savoring the sight. Restraining himself from reaching out and touching her while she slept, the softness of her skin kept calling him.

 

It took days for him to trust her. Indeed, he refused to sleep at all during their first three nights together. He could go longer than that without rest, but she began to worry for him. “You need sleep, Steve,” she finally said, tenderness in her voice. She knew more of who he was, now—even if she still could not read his mind. “I’m not leaving you. Okay?”

 

He frowned, but his tired eyes seemed grateful. “Then stay with me.”

 

“You don’t trust me,” she said bitterly, even though she knew he had cause.

 

“I, I can’t take the risk,” he faltered, feeling badly about it. By now, he had hoped to have gotten used to her beauty. But carrying around a picture of a strange woman for months on end, the act of taking it out and gazing at it morning and night and several times during the day besides, had done something to him. So had the freshness of her smile, the softness of her skin, and the scent of her body. She had told him little of her family or her home. Indeed, it seemed to be a subject of intense grief for her. But she had promised in earnest to help Bucky. In fact, they had gotten a message across to Wakanda, urging the King to send the former Winter Soldier out to join them. She fervently hoped T’Challa would agree to it. These were desperate times.

 

“Alright,” she murmured softly. “I’ll stay with you.” She took his hand and led him into the small bedroom. The bed was only a double. She lay down upon it and closed her eyes.  “Come on. You’re like a ton of bricks. I’ll never be able to crawl out from under you.”

 

“Only for a couple of hours. Three at most,” he grumbled, flopping down, half his body on top of hers because he was running out of options. He tried in vain not to notice, but after three sleepless nights, he was so weary that even his persistent desire couldn’t stop him from falling asleep atop a woman who was little more than a stranger to him.

 

Six hours later, he awoke. She was sound asleep beneath him; he could tell immediately by the steadiness of her breath and the stillness of her body. Gazing down at her, he was reminded of the photograph, the only one they had ever been able to salvage. Though he had seen others, computers had been erased, minds had been wiped. There was no one left who knew who she was—only him. He had to admit she’d been great at covering her tracks. They'd had no other leads and only he, whose mind was a blank to her, managed to keep that photo when everyone else forgot of its existence—and forgot  _her_ as well. But she could never erase this last trace of herself—not from him.

 

With his thigh cast over hers, he felt the persistent desire pulsate over his body yet again, strong enough to rouse him from his slumber. He sighed, drinking in her scent when he came to full consciousness. Outside, the snow had abated and he spotted the woodcutter’s pile through the window. They would be running out of wood soon. He left her alone, for he could trust her now. Pulling on his parka, he went out to chop wood.

 

Half an hour passed. Still incredibly warm from the intense body heat he had left behind on the mattress, Danae pulled off her sweatshirt and lay only in a tanktop and lounge pants. The goose down blanket covering her was more than enough to keep warm. Waking to the sound of wood chopping, the only noise to pierce the impossible silence of this no man’s land, she wrapped the blanket over her shoulders and headed into the living room, wondering how the hell she was going to fall asleep tonight. Catching a glimpse of him through the window, she clenched her thighs tight and bit the insides of her lip. _He’s been through hell. He’s trying so hard, trying to do everything right. He calls himself the Nomad, thinks he doesn’t belong anywhere. The Order's torn him apart more than Zemo ever did. I have to help him. Someone's got to--he always puts himself last._ Sighing, she headed into the small kitchen and heated up two mugs of hot chocolate.

 

Still wearing nothing but her tank top and lounge pants and with the down blanket draped over her shoulders, she headed outside carrying the mugs. Steve stopped chopping and stood there like some kind of dark, grim lumberjack, staring at her.

 

“Hi,” she smiled, her voice nearly swallowed by the vastness of the open air. The wind had almost completely died out, making the cold far more tolerable. It was nearly spring, after all. “Thought you’d like some hot chocolate.”

 

He blinked at her. It was the nicest thing anyone had done for him since he’d left Wakanda. _Been on the run too long,_ he thought. It was a distraction from everything going on in his body, from the wicked urge to tear that blanket off her shoulders and plunge his mouth upon those creamy breasts that seemed too full to be contained by a mere tank top. He’d rip that off her as well, so his mouth could find its way down her body, taste everything she had to give. But he only nodded at her, as if frozen. “Yes.”

 

She sat down on one of the larger logs and he took a seat beside her. “You seem warm. Well, you’re always warm, really,” she noted cheerfully, her knuckles brushing against his as she passed him his mug.

 

“The serum,” he replied absently, taking the warm ceramic in his hand. “It ups my body temperature.”

 

“Why’d you leave me alone?” she asked shyly. “Do you trust me now?”

 

He permitted himself a small grin, only a half-smile. It had been so long since the he last smiled. _With Bucky, on the Quinjet. Months ago._ “Guess so.”

 

She nodded. “Good.” After a few sips of chocolate, she cleared her throat. “I’m willing to help with Thanos, you know.”

 

“I’m not sure you’re telling the truth about that,” he murmured, his voice uncertain.

 

“I am,” she said simply.

 

“Then why did you run?” he asked bitterly. “It’s taken everything to find you.”

 

“I, I just wanted to protect my family. All the children.”

 

“The children?” he asked sharply.

 

“I didn’t mention them before,” she looked down at the ground. “They’re only children, Steve. But they’re special—like me. I protect them. Now I guess it's my job to protect the world.”

 

He squinted, eyes temporarily blinded by the sun. With the sweet taste of hot chocolate in his mouth, he rolled his tongue back and forth, considering her words. “Gotta have a world left for them to live in.”

 

“I’m not sure what’ll be left once Thanos comes through,” she sighed. “Sounds like the Black Order’s given you a bad enough time as it is.”

 

He frowns, but it’s not enough to hide the pain. What he’s seen these last few months—it went beyond anything Hydra had ever done. Barely able to stay one step ahead of it all, the truth was he hated hiding from it now. It felt like an act of cowardice. But he had no choice—if he were to stay and fight the real fight, he couldn’t face them. Not yet. He would only die. They’d put a bounty on his head, killed others in his name to try and get to him--civilians. Lots of them. Others were stepping in, taking on the Order for him. They had told him to get the hell out, wait for the right time. And besides, he couldn’t die yet. They needed him.

 

Bucky still needed him.

 

She could read the anguish in his eyes. They’d only been together three days, but she found her hand stroking his cheek, running down the length of his full, thick beard which felt bristly and smooth at the same time.

 

Surprised, he turned to her and caught her hand in an iron grip, stopping her. He used so much force, was so much stronger than her that she caught her breath. Their eyes locked for a moment until she lowered her gaze down to the redness of his lips, nearly hidden behind his mask of facial hair. Surprised at herself, she moved closer, smelling hints of cinnamon and chocolate, wondering what it would feel like to brush them against her own.

 

“World’s coming to an end,” she murmured, his hot breath piercing through the coldness to carress her skin. The sun in the bright blue sky made his reddened lips glisten though his breath came slow, displaying a distinct lack of fatigue from chopping wood. “And I don’t know what the hell to do.”

 

“We wait,” he grunted, dropping her hand from his. Gulping down the last of the hot chocolate, he rose and returned to the woodpile.

 

Danae went inside.

 

Hours later, the temperature dropped and the sky began to grow black. Darkness encroached and inside the cabin she could only watch him re-arrange the wood in the fireplace for the umpteenth time, keeping them warm. Keeping them alive. “Steve,” she said suddenly.

 

“Yeah?” he asked, his voice much gentler now.

 

“If we get through this, well . . . I just want you to know that, that Bucky’s gonna be alright.”

 

He nodded perfunctorily.

 

“What I mean is, we can take him in. Take care of him. He can stay with us.”

 

“Stay where?” he demanded.

 

She sighed. “Where we live. That’s all I can tell you, for now.”

 

The man who called himself the Nomad seemed displeased by it.

 

“Please, Steve,” she pleaded. “It’s the children. You have to understand.”

 

“Even now?” he asked bitterly. “You said it yourself—the world’s coming to an end.”

 

“If Captain America’s lost hope, then what hope do any of us have?”

 

“I’m _not_ the Captain,” his voice rumbled with resentment. “Not anymore.”

 

Something about the way he knelt there, bent over the firewood as if in prayer, made her heart ache. She left the couch and knelt down beside him, putting her hand on his shoulder. “I can’t _let_ you lose hope. If you do, then there’s none left for any of us.”

 

Turning to face her fully, he bit back the desire which plagued him like a relentless beast. It always came upon him, rode him to distraction whenever he looked her way, heard the sound of her voice or smelled her scent—whenever he looked at that picture he kept folded in his belt. He practically growled at her. “Danae. What do you want?”

 

She melted. Both of them in the middle of nowhere, down on their knees by the fire; both of them so fearful for the future they could hardly think straight—it made her dizzy. Has  _this man ever asked for anything for himself?_ But she put both hands on his cheeks, those whiskers tickling her palms and forced herself to speak even though she felt out of breath. “I want you . . . I want you to _hope._ I want you to keep going. To _make_ me believe we can do this.”

 

“We can,” he said suddenly, a new light in his eyes. “Together. We _won’t_ let Thanos win.”

 

“ _That’s_ what I was waiting to hear,” she whispered, and, before she could stop herself, lightly brushed her lips over his.

 

He gasped.

 

Quickly, as if she had done something wrong, she released him and stood up, heart pounding. “I’m sorry. I, I’d better head to bed.” Tearing her eyes away, she turned and left him.

 

He followed.

 

“Danae.”

 

She stopped.

 

Eyes glistening now, he came closer. “I, I don’t know what to say.”

 

She turned around. “You don’t have to say anything.” It undid her, to see him standing there, yielding to her as if he was yielding to despair. “This is a dark time, Steve. You’re still a good man, even if you’ve been through hell. I, I’m sorry I kissed you. I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable.”

 

“That’s not how I’d describe it,” he murmured, giving a barely perceptible tremble.

 

“We don’t know each other well. Not yet,” she said softly. Glancing away, she shut her eyes and spoke the truth. “And we may never have the time to. You know what’s coming.”

 

“I know.” He, of all people, didn’t need to be told. He gave a slight nod of acknowledgment, but still did not move.

 

Bringing her eyes back to his, she came closer and lifted her hands to his face to stroke his thick brown beard once again, running her fingers down his cheeks. But instead of kissing him, she only embraced him, pressing her face to his chest. “Steve. I’m staying with you. I promise. I’ll be there—‘til the end. Like you want me to.”

 

He sighed and she could not know how the fullness of her embrace, the simple act of taking him into her arms, burned away the last of his resistance. His heart thrummed fast and he cupped her face in his hands, bringing her mouth to meet his. His brown whiskers tickled and scratched at her cheeks, but his reddened lips were wet and in that wetness she sought his tongue, taking it deep into her mouth. A kiss to take them out of themselves, out of the world they lived in until all that was left was the snow falling gently to the ground, lit only by the fire he had made, and their kiss. With a rush of relief, she submitted to his touch and the sheer thrill of exploring his body with her own hands, hard muscles stiff beneath his flannel shirt. His large hands shoved the blanket from her shoulders, thumbs succinctly peeling the straps of her tank top away so he could bury his face into the creamy cushion of her breasts, his beard leaving tiny red scratches wherever he kissed her. Danae turned her face to the heavens and lowed.

 

The tank top fell down to her waist now so his hungry mouth could find her breasts and take them in, suckling and kissing them greedily while his hands pushed her lounge pants down her hips, leaving only a tiny pair of black bikini panties to cover her. Her hands rested upon his shoulders and steadied her, even while she was melting. The hot moistness of his mouth contrasted with the frigidness of the air. Everything was cold now, his mouth the only source of heat on her body. Hooking the stringy sides of her panties with his thumbs, he pulled them down with relish until she was completely naked though he remained fully dressed. He stopped and brought his glistening eyes up to meet hers, his face half hidden by the thickness of his beard, and she could swear she saw tears in them though she didn’t understand why. It seemed best that she couldn’t read his mind. It would be too much.

 

“Danae.”

 

But she put his mouth over his before he could say anything more, felt the sexy roughness of his work clothes grate against her bare, silken skin and suddenly found herself moving against him, her body rocking in a circular rhythm until he clutched her hips with both hands.

 

“Danae. I don’t have anything to—“ he protested, even while his body betrayed him. Still fully dressed, he could not conceal his desire from her.

 

She only kissed him harder, as if she could drink him in through her mouth. When she finally released him, she murmured. “It’s the end of the world, remember? I’m with you.”

 

He plunged his mouth back on hers, his tongue diving inside her while his hands began to remove his own clothes, her fingers following him to caress whatever bare patch of skin she could find. It drove him wild and he shimmied off his pants while she stroked his rock hard shoulders with her palms before returning to his beard again. Kissing him, she suddenly felt the rough, coarse hairs of his manhood tickle the soft skin of her belly until she collided with his hardness and he gasped.

 

“Danae—wait.” His voice sounded ragged and he moved his lips from her mouth, running them down her throat, making her shiver in a way that was different from the cold. Lavving her with his tongue, he met her breasts again, suckling and stroking until she found herself squirming, helpless with desire and he barely able to contain himself. She felt so soft and the sensation of cupping a breast in each hand, coarse thumbs rubbing over her nipples, made him drunk. But he resisted.

 

“No. Not yet.”

 

With a groan, he pushed her hips down in an inexorable grip that made her wonder if she’d find bruises there tomorrow though she really didn’t care. All she cared about was the way the hairs on his face tickled her breasts when he kissed the soft space between them. But his mouth abandoned them and, dragging his face down her torso, he began to brush his beard against her own feminine hairs. When he planted a soft kiss on the tip of her pubic bone, she gave a helpless thrust, bumping him lightly and making him chuckle. His tongue teased her small mound of hairs back and forth until it dug deeper and made contact with her wetness. A cry burst from her throat and he murmured to himself, sounding vaguely satisfied about something though she could not tell what it was. All too soon, he brought the full length of his tongue to lap at her folds, gradually going deeper until he could swish merciless circles over her heat from top to bottom. Danae found her hips grinding now, harder and harder, but he only held her tighter.

 

“Not yet.”

 

Without any further pretense, he pressed the tip of his tongue inside her, making her cry out. Over and over, he pressed and cajoled her as she rocked her body back and forth, feeling the burn of his beard over the delicate skin of her inner thighs. Tiny red scratches appeared that would not leave her skin for several days. By now her scent had wet itself all over his face, his beard, and his mouth. As she came upon his lips, he heard her wail like some sort of wild, wanton beast and he clenched his own thighs together, holding himself back. Easing her through the aftershocks with gentle strokes from his good, thick fingers, he gave a low-pitched hum and kissed her thighs, reddened from his bristles, before making his way up her body until they were face to face once again.

 

“Danae.”

 

“Steve,” she panted, stroking his cheeks in her hands, smelling herself all over him. His wet bristles tickled her palms and excited her. “I want _you._ So much.” She would not say that she loved him—not yet. This was not about love. It was about having him, taking his body into her own. It could become love, perhaps, maybe even a deep love if given enough time. But they had no time. Thanos was coming. And he, who was once the Captain, had become the Nomad and something of a broken man. A man who carried her picture in his pocket.

 

She kissed his mouth, his neck, any part of him she could reach while he plunged his thickness inside her soaking wet folds, chasing his own pleasure, thrumming harder and harder until she felt her walls begin to tremble for a second time. Into that rhythm he lost himself, growling and heaving until he sounded like some kind of animal. When he finally found his release, he thrust his whole body into her softness, her smooth, feminine skin cushioning his own to become his refuge as he spilled the last of his seed and the salt of his tears into her body.

 

When they finally fell asleep, his body on top of hers, she had felt never felt so warm in her life, even though the fire had run out.

 

Weeks later, word came from Shield.

 

Thanos’ fleet was nearing the earth. Steve was to take the Quinjet, meet them at the rendezvous point, and prepare for a last stand. He was to bring the class five with him.

 

Danae took his hand, ready to follow.

 

**Author's Note:**

> This story was inspired by Steve Rogers' beard. I wanted to see if I could write a one-shot for fun and smut and giggles, though it ended up a little dark and angsty. Hope you enjoyed it.
> 
> btw, I am definitely not abandoning my longer series--this was just a fun little experiment for me ;-)
> 
> Please do leave a comment if you enjoyed this story. I always read and respond. Feedback is my fuel and writers really appreciate it when you take the time. Thanks!


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